


Scenes From An Italian Restaurant

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorce, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: Dinner together, once a year. Seven o’clock, the little Italian place in Manchester.It hurt too much to stay friends. It hurt worse to lose each other completely.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 137





	Scenes From An Italian Restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> This entirely stemmed from me saying "I don't think I can write angst" and then listening to Billy Joel's Scenes From An Italian Restaurant and thinking "wait a minute........"  
> def listen to the song before, after, during, whatever you please  
> So like, sorry.....

The first year was awkward. 

Dan was thirty minutes late and Phil had convinced himself after five that he wouldn’t show. The waiter refilled his water with a pitying look in his eyes. 

He doesn’t know why they chose this restaurant, the staff knew them by name. 

He doesn’t know why he chose the table by the window, or well, maybe he does - it was simply second nature to tell the hostess “ _that one over there, if you don’t mind.”_

He’s tearing at one of the free breadsticks, absently staring into the breadbasket when there’s a cough and the scraping of chair legs against linoleum. 

“Hi Phil.” 

Phil didn’t know why he thought Dan would look any different. Like a year apart would change his facial structure, make him five inches taller, or something like that. But he didn’t. 

Maybe it’s because he felt like a stranger. 

“Hi Dan.” 

Phil, for once, wished the little Italian restaurant was even darker than its usual soft candle lit lighting. He could do without comparing Dan’s eyes to the shade of coffee Dan preferred. 

Did he still like his coffee strong and dark? 

“Did you order yet?” 

The words felt forced, distant. Like Dan was reading off a teleprompter hung somewhere behind and to the left of Phil’s head. 

“No, I was waiting for you.” 

Dan hummed, picking up the menu in front of him. 

Phil doesn’t let himself look at his hands. He always had a thing for Dan’s hands. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’okay.” 

The waiter saved them from their uncomfortable silence, flipping over the glass in front of Dan to fill it as he asked if they wanted anything to drink. 

Phil asked for a bottle of sauvignon blanc for the table. Dan scrunched up his nose at Phil’s request, but he's ordering his pasta before Phil could open his mouth to ask for something different. 

So they sip white wine, Dan barely touching his, as they eat. 

By the end of the night Phil had swirled his pasta on his fork more times than words were spoken between the two of them. And Phil barely touched his food. 

“Should we forget about this whole thing?” Phil asked after the waiter had walked away with both of their cards. 

He tried to not dwell on the fact that it was the first time they had ever asked for their bill to be split after a meal, but his heart didn’t get the memo, ripping a little bit further apart with the reminder. 

“No,” Dan said all too quickly, in the most _Dan_ his voice had sounded all night. “No, we promised.” 

“Okay,” Phil nodded his head easily enough. 

They go back to silence while they wait for their cards to be brought back. When they’re returned, Phil’s eyes betray him, tracking Dan’s hand as he scribbled his signature on his receipt. His heart shattering just that bit more as he’s reminded of the last time he watched Dan do the same movement. 

Phil doesn’t walk Dan out - his own chair scraping against the linoleum to be the first one out. He didn’t want to fret about holding open the door, or if a hug on the street before parting was acceptable. 

“I’ll see you next year.” 

Dan nodded, still sat in his own chair. “Same time, same place?” 

Phil nodded. 

The first year was awkward. 

Phil barely remembers the second year. 

He has vague memories.

Dan was late again, but not by nearly as long. 

The hostess brought Phil to their table without him asking. Of course, it would always be their table, even the staff knew. 

Phil didn’t touch the breadsticks on the table. 

Dan arrived with a huff of breath, a mumbled apology, and cherry red lips - all of which caught Phil’s attention. 

His lips probably the most. 

Dan orders a bottle of red zinfandel. It became two bottles as Phil’s focus was on Dan’s mouth more than their meal. 

Perhaps they were over-served. 

The night didn’t end at the little Italian restaurant. 

But Phil doesn’t remember what Dan’s new flat looked like through his vague memories of them tumbling around on Dan’s mattress. A familiar body in an unfamiliar bed. 

They didn’t talk about it. Only a “ _see you next year”_ as Phil collected his clothes off the cold hardwood floor. 

Dan always hated carpeting. Phil disagreed. 

Phil barely remembers the second year. 

The third year was the most painful. 

Phil was nervous. He almost didn’t go - but they had made a promise. 

Dan wasn’t the late one that time. Or at least, he wasn’t as late as Phil. Phil muttering a “ _s_ _orry, sorry_ ” as he sat across from Dan. 

Dan was looking out the window to the street. The ring in Phil’s jean’s pocket felt like a hot coal against his thigh. 

He pulled it off at the last second, as he walked through the front door and saw the back of Dan’s head at their table. 

When they order they both agree to stick with water, the wine list declined. The waiter almost looked like he understood, last year was a fluke spurred on by a new look and too much wine the same color as Dan’s lips. 

They weren’t as red that night. But Dan still didn’t look like himself, his cheeks were less round, his hair was shorter with the slightest bit of wave to it. 

“You look good.” Phil poked at his ravioli. He was trying something new. 

He didn’t like it. 

“Thanks.” Dan wasn’t trying something new, he had his usual pasta. The one he always ordered far before this arrangement. 

“I’m training for the marathon, I guess. My brother’s helping me with it.” 

The surprise on Phil’s face was genuine. Dan seemed to perk up at it. 

“Good for you! I wish you luck.” 

Somewhere towards the back of the restaurant, a fork scraped against someone’s plate. Phil felt it in his teeth. 

“I have a new job,” Phil hummed as he poked at his uneaten food. 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s better. I’m happier. Working with Martyn now, we even have our own office.” 

“You two always worked well together.” Dan’s words didn’t sound unhappy, but his eyes said something different. 

“Phil, I’m not an idiot,” Dan said after they had both handed their cards over to the waiter. 

Phil was stupid to think Dan’s eyes weren’t constantly flicking to his hand. 

“What?” 

Dan gestured towards Phil’s left hand. Obviously the tan line was there.

Phil instinctively pulled the sleeve of his jumper down. He didn’t know why he did it, he was caught out. 

He would say he didn’t know why he was hiding it in the first place, but he knew. 

“How long?” 

“We just got back from Greece a few days ago.” 

“Oh.” 

“He’s from there, we-” 

“I don’t really want to hear about him, Phil.” Phil hadn’t heard that bitter, angry tone from Dan since before the divorce. 

He hated that he missed it. 

Dan was the first to leave, getting up the second his card was returned to him. Phil thought that year would be the last. But as Dan was pushing his chair out from the table, the familiar screech of its legs against the floor, he mutters a small, “ _I_ _’ll still see you next year?”_

Phil’s _“of course_ ” is immediate. 

He stayed back once Dan was out the door. He flagged down their waiter and ordered two desserts and a cocktail that was mostly whisky. 

He just didn’t want to go home. 

The waitstaff were kind enough to not bother him as he quietly sobbed into forkfuls of chocolate. He left a few tenners on the table before leaving, as a thanks for dealing with that. 

Phil thought he had moved on enough for this to not hurt. He hadn’t moved on at all. 

The third year was the most painful. 

The fourth year was bittersweet. 

Phil was on time, but Dan was already there - sat at their table. Phil actually pulled his phone out of his pocket, to check the time, thinking that he was actually late. 

It turns out Dan was just early. 

There’s the usual basket of bread and two glasses of water on the table by the window. But Dan had the stem of a glass of pink wine pinched between his fingers when Phil approached the table. 

Dan’s hair was much longer at the top, and the sides were shaved close to his scalp. It was very curly. 

He’s wearing a leather jacket, with lots of buckles and zips, Phil doesn’t dwell on how he didn’t recognize Dan’s wardrobe anymore. 

He noted, as he sat down, that Dan’s cheeks were the same shade of pink as his drink.

Phil hated how it made his heart flip over in his chest. 

But Phil knew Dan. He knew Dan better than he knew himself sometimes, even after all this time. And Dan looked like he wanted to be anywhere but at their table in the little Italian restaurant that night. 

“I didn’t take a ring off before coming in.” 

The words were out of Phil’s mouth without a second thought. He doesn’t pull down his sleeves, his left hand clasped over his right. 

Dan quirked a brow and set down his wine glass. 

Phil’s unspoken words register to him a few seconds later. It felt like minutes. 

Phil’s frowning, Dan chuckled. 

“Two divorces. What, are you going for a world record or something?” 

There’s a hint of Dan’s playful sarcasm in his voice. Phil had almost forgotten how it sounded. 

“Sorry,” Dan added before Phil could say anything. “I’m no better putting myself underneath, on top, and in between every willing body I can find. You were always the settle down type, it makes sense.” 

Dan picked his wine glass back up, pouring the liquid down his throat. Phil knew Dan well enough to know that’s his way of shutting himself up. 

He also knew that tactic never worked, it just made Dan’s lips looser every single time - though there’s something tugging in Phil’s chest at the action. 

He remembered it, it’s familiar, it’s Dan. 

Dan ordered his usual pasta, Phil the spaghetti. He gestured towards Dan’s wine glass, offering to pay for his refill and asking for his own glass of the same. 

The waiter offered to bring over the bottle, they decline. 

“We were so stupid,” Phil said around a mouthful of spaghetti. 

Dan snorted. “We were so in love.” 

Phil’s a bit speechless at that. It’s not like it wasn’t true - it’s just, they never talked about it on these yearly catch ups. If they could even be called that. 

“We were so young.” 

Dan nodded his head. “Stupid,” he repeated Phil’s words. 

If Phil squinted, it almost felt like them again. 

They actually talked, throughout dinner, and it was more than surface level conversations about the weather, or pointing out that they thought the sauce recipe had changed. 

They talked about how stupid they were. 

Dan told Phil the story of how he didn’t end up running in the marathon. Though, Phil already knew that - standing on the sidelines earlier that year, not catching any glimpses of Dan. But he didn’t tell Dan as much. 

Phil told Dan about his family, how they were doing. Because Dan had asked. Phil didn’t mention that he knew they missed Dan. He did too.

Keeping things from Dan felt wrong, but that’s all Phil knew now. 

“You still at our place?” Dan asked after the bill came. 

“Y-yeah.” The question took Phil off guard. Our place. 

“I hated that fucking shag carpeting,” Dan huffed. 

“It isn’t shag!” 

“It absolutely is Phil and it’s horrible.” 

“You knew we couldn’t afford any of those other places!” Phil’s tone dropped the teasing. 

Dan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep breath. 

They couldn’t fight here. 

“We can’t fight here,” Dan said. 

Phil didn’t know why he was so surprised that Dan could still read his mind after all this time. 

They sit in silence until their cards are brought back to them. Phil grabs his and is out the door without a care for the receipt and pen the waiter tried to hand him. 

Dan knew how to sign Phil’s name anyways. 

The fourth year was bittersweet. 

Phil wasn’t sure if Dan would show up the fifth year. 

He fretted about going himself. 

They didn’t reassure one another that they would, Phil remembers how he stormed out.

It was childish of him. Dan would call him childish. 

Phil ignored the part of his brain that says that isn’t true. He also ignored that if it were true, Dan would say it with a roll of his eyes and love in his voice. 

Because that’s how they were. 

Phil decided to go anyways. After all, they had made the promise to each other. 

_Dinner together, once a year. Seven o’clock, the little Italian place in Manchester._

It hurt too much to stay friends. It hurt worse to lose each other completely. 

Everything just hurt. Phil was certain it would never stop. 

It’s been five years, and he had only finally accepted that he would never be over Dan. 

Phil looked up from his feet as he approached the restaurant, someone walking towards it from the other direction scooting forward to pull open the door for him. 

It’s Dan. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” they say at the same time. Then they both huff out a shared laugh. 

Dan’s holding the door open, Phil’s stopped in front of him, the hostess was probably looking at them like they were idiots. 

They were. 

“Can we get the table by the window?” Phil asked the hostess. 

“The one near the street.” Dan added. 

“If you don’t mind.”

“You look good,” Phil said after they had ordered and the waiter had brought over the bottle of rosé that they both agreed on. 

It was the one they had always gotten before. 

Phil doesn’t know why he didn’t order it the first year - or any of the years after that. It was light and sweet enough for Phil, but bright and just the littlest bit of tart for Dan. 

Maybe Phil thought it was sacred, or something. 

“I look like shit Phil. So do you.” 

Phil can’t protest, Dan’s right. 

Maybe it was a ripping the band-aid off kind of night. 

“You think we would’ve made it if we didn’t get married?” Phil pulls the plaster off further. 

Dan sighed. His eyes looked sad. 

“Think so.” Dan’s voice is small. 

“I think there were a lot of things we rushed into that fucked us up,” Dan added, after a long pause. Phil’s brave enough, staring at Dan instead of down at the table or out the window. 

“We were stupid.” Phil didn’t know what else to say. 

“We are stupid,” Dan corrected him, tearing at one of the breadsticks in the basket in front of them. 

Dan looked like Dan that night - albeit a bit sadder, a bit worn down. Phil knew he looked much of the same. 

Dan sounded like Dan that night, he wasn’t reading off a script, he wasn’t keeping his thoughts in. 

Everything was familiar in a way it hadn’t been for quite some time. 

Dan looked Phil straight in the eye after dropping the bit of torn bread on the table, and Phil couldn’t look away. 

“I love you. Or, I still love you. I guess that’s what I should be saying.” 

“Fuck, Dan.” 

“Back then I thought the dumbest thing I’d ever done was saying yes to you and moving to London. It wasn’t. Giving up on you and our dreams the second I got scared. That was the stupidest shit I’ve ever fucking done.” 

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” 

The tears that were welling in Dan’s eyes fell freely. “What? No, you… we promised.”

Dan was panicking and Phil reached across the table, grabbing Dan’s hand in his. 

“I can’t go home tonight knowing I won’t see you again for another year. We can’t do this anymore.” 

Tears were falling down Phil’s face as well, both completely uncaring about anyone else in the restaurant. 

“I love you so much, it hurts,” he added. 

Dan’s hiccuping. Phil has to push his glasses up onto his forehead to wipe at his eyes with his free hand, so he can see properly. 

“We both fucked up. We’re both fucked up,” Phil sniffed. “The biggest mistake I’ve ever made was just letting you go like that. I regret it every single fucking day.” 

“Fuck.” Dan tugged his hand from Phil’s so he could push his hands into his eyes. 

They sat there in silence for a while, besides their sniffling, Phil looking at Dan like he was his entire world. 

Because he is. 

“I, like, need to shovel pasta in my mouth right now,” Dan finally spoke up, reaching across the table to shove a breadstick in it instead. 

Phil couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Same.” 

It was Dan that reached his hand across the table, that time. Phil let him take his. 

On the fifth year Dan and Phil show up at the little Italian restaurant at the same time. 

They don't split the bill. 

They both leave, hours later, at the same time. 

Together. 

They go back to Dan’s flat, the one he was still living in in Manchester. 

Phil got a tour that time - he made fun of Dan’s wooden floors, Dan poked fun at Phil’s carpet. 

Dan’s shocked to hear that Phil tore up the carpeting of the London flat. He’s less shocked to hear that it was the reason Phil’s lease didn’t get renewed another year. 

Phil didn’t leave in the wee hours of the night, waking the next morning in Dan’s arms. 

They slot together differently than they did before, but it didn’t feel foreign to Phil. 

Of course it didn't. 

He didn’t go home the next night. Or the night after that. 

There’s a table by the window in a little Italian restaurant. 

It has the perfect view of the street for those who like to people watch.

There’s a couple who have a reoccurring reservation at this table. 

Seven o’clock sharp. 

On the third Friday of each month. 

They haven't been together for nearly as long as they've been in love. But they're working through that. 

The waiter will ask if they want a bottle of red, or a bottle of white every time they come in. 

They will smile and meet each other’s eyes. 

_“Whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight.”_


End file.
